


103

by LadyBlitzkrieg



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-29
Updated: 2012-06-29
Packaged: 2017-11-08 19:30:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/446699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyBlitzkrieg/pseuds/LadyBlitzkrieg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>or: The one where Gerard is sick and Frank is the best boyfriend ever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	103

**Author's Note:**

> Read on!!

Ugh. I hate that dog. Goddammit, why does she even sleep in the bed? I mean, I love her to death, but she’s a husky for Christ’s sake! Well, she’s only a puppy, and Gerard had made the sweetest face when he begged me to let her sleep with us. But that’s not the point. The point is I’m sleeping and she will. not. stop. _squirming_. I sigh and look over at the clock. 2:13 in the morning. God. Why am I awake? Better yet, why is the stupid dog awake? She’s so damn lucky I love her. 

“Sleep, Sadie.”

But she just yips at the sound of her name and bustles out from under the covers. Okay… commands don’t apply before sunrise I guess. I know she has to go out but it’s freezing outside and I am making no move to get out of bed. Maybe I’ll just let her piss on the carpet again.

“Frank, can you please take your dog out?” Gerard rasps beside me.

My dog? MY DOG?! It’s his dog! He’s the one who bought it! (For me… for my birthday).

“Just ignore her, she’ll shut up.” I argue, closing my eyes.

“If she shits on the rug you’re cleaning it up.” He mutters before coughing deeply and turning onto his side.

Fair enough, but that still doesn’t mean I’m gonna get up and do anything about it. Gerard coughs again and I think he even mumbles a ‘chop, chop’ as he turns onto his side. “Frank. Dog. Now,” he says before tossing the comforter over his head. I frown and jab at his shoulder, but he just groans and grinds his head into the pillow. 

“Asshole,” I mutter, throwing the sheets off my legs in the most obnoxious way possible.

Sadie yips again, looking at me with big blue eyes. She pads over to me, nudging my bare shoulder with her cold nose. I flinch and sit up straighter, sighing and running a hand over her back. Puppies are so soft and warm, like hyperactive cashmere sweaters that knock over all the garbage cans when you’re not home.

“Do you need to go outside, Sadie?” I ask softly.

The dog whimpers and jumps down off the bed, running over to our door and pushing it open with her forepaws. I slip out of the bed, tugging on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt before walking out into the living room, where Sadie is sitting patiently at the door, her tail thumping against the floor with excitement. 

“Hurry up and piss.” 

I open the front door, and watch the dog take off into the darkness. I yawn and rub my fists into my eyes, stretching a bit before slumping over against the door frame. Stupid dog. Stupid winter time. Why am I out of bed? Oh, right, stupid Gerard. It’s not long before she’s back inside, shaking off a layer of dew from her coat. She stays close to my heels as I walk back into the bedroom, bounding up onto the mattress before I even close the door. She goes to Gerard’s side first, pressing her nose to his neck until he turns over and starts cuddling up to her.

“Did Sadie go outside like a good little girl?” he asks softly, voice hitching.

I look up from tugging off the sweatshirt and over at the bed. Gerard makes a face before coughing roughly, leaving him gasping for air. I frown and go over to the bed. “You don’t sound good. Are you okay?”  
I crawl back under the covers, pulling him into me. I put my hand against his cheek, huffing a little at the hot skin beneath. He nods, though and pulls his face away. He tries to cover up another coughing fit, but he just sputters and clasps his hands awkwardly over his face. 

“I think it’s just a flu, I’ll be fine.” His voice is already scratchy, fuck.

And ‘Fine’ my ass. Last time he said he felt _fine_ he was walking on a nearly broken ankle for 5 hours before telling anyone about it. I push some of the hair from his eyes, staring into his foggy irises. He blinks tiredly, and even in the dim lighting of our bedroom, I can tell he’s getting sick. 

“Go back to sleep, yeah? It’s not even 3 yet,” I comfort, reaching over and tucking some of the blankets around him.

He smiles and wriggles closer, “Cuddle with me.”

The first thing I learned about him when I met the guy was he was a sucker for attention. If he could find a way to be doted upon he would take full advantage of the situation. He was even worse when he was sick or hurt, because then he was just a big baby and would cry and carry on until he got exactly what he wanted. 

And I’m not one to reject a perfectly good opportunity to spoon the man I loved.

I fall down beside him, wrapping my arms around his waist, listening to him take in slow, congested breaths, before we’re both fast asleep. 

**+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+**

“Shit!”  
What?

What time izzit?

Fuckit’sbrightinhere. I sit up in bed, only to find it’s empty and not even Sadie is curled up in the mound of black and purple sheets. The spot where Gerard was sleeping is still warm, but the house is silent. I scramble out of bed and into the bathroom, throwing the door open. Gerard has a really bad habit of taking baths and then falling asleep in them, especially when he’s not feeling well, but the tub is empty and dry. There is a bout of coughing from the living room and I sigh in relief. I walk in quietly, kneeling down in front of him. He’s stretched across the couch and bundled under all of our blankets. I run my hand over his cheek and whine unhappily when I realize he’s running a now gnarly fever.

“Babe?” I ask, putting a little more pressure behind my hand.

He blinks awake and looks up, smiling tiredly at me. “Mmmm. Hi, Frankie.” He whispers.

There’s a soft bark, and I see Sadie’s head pop out from beneath the quilt Gerard’s thrown over himself. It’s also then I notice there’s no sound going on around us which means the TV isn’t even turned on. That’s weird; he’s one of biggest TV junkies I know. 

“Why are you out here and not in bed with me?” I press gently.

He looks down, his flushed cheeks going pale for a moment, before he coughs heavily and runs a hand over Sadie’s head. “Couldn’t sleep, so I tried to watch some TV. But it gave me a headache. So… here I am.” He explains feebly.

Sadie burrows back down under the covers and he pulls the quilts up to his chin. Damn. It’s our first real break from touring in 2 years, and he comes down with Hyper-Flu or something. I sit down beside him, pulling his feet into my lap. Guess I should call Brian and cancel that label meeting this afternoon. He’s in no state to go, and no way in hell am I leaving him home alone for 5 hours.

“Are you hungry? Or want something to drink?”

He shakes his head and points to a half empty water bottle perched on the coffee table. I rub along his calf, playing with the frayed ends of the blanket. I strain my back to reach over him and grab my phone off the coffee table. Gerard closes his eyes and settles into place while I flip my phone open and prepare myself for Brian’s wrath. He answers on the second ring.

“ _It’s 7:30 in the morning, Iero, this had better be good_ ,” he grumbles, the sounds of traffic nearly drowning out his voice.

I giggle nervously, “So, uhh, about that meeting. We can’t go.”

Brian curses and something honks, “ _What do you mean ‘you can’t go’? We’re negotiating your contracts, you guys really cannot miss this_.”

I look over at Gerard, sighing into the phone, “Gee is sick. Like, really sick. We can’t come.”

“ _How sick_?” Brian asks, sounding frustrated but also sympathetic.

“Fever,” I breathe, “And he has a bad cough.”

There’s a lapse of silence, and I can hear him turn off his car and get out. “ _The meeting isn’t until 2. Just make him sleep and take some Tylenol and if he’s not better by then we’ll figure something out_.” He replies, voice calm.

“You know he won’t take anything,” I groan impatiently

Brian laughs at that but it sounds sarcastic, “ _I don’t care, knock him out and force-feed him if you have to_.” 

Maybe I could sneak some Tylenol in a bowl of soup… I go back to massaging Gerard’s legs, smirking as my hand dips down beneath his cocoon of quilts and start fondling his inner thighs. But he doesn’t react; he just kinda gives me a weary look and pulls his legs into his chest. 

“I’m not in the mood, Frank. Maybe later.” He mumbles.

Brian coughs on his end of the line jerking my attention back to him, “ _Did you take his temperature yet_?” he asks seriously.

I laugh, “You sound like my mother.”

“ _I **am** your mother. Jesus_.” Brian huffs, still sounding stern, “ _Did you or not_?”

“Ummm… hold on just a sec,” I stammer.

I rattle Gerard awake, smiling when he looks up at me, “Do you know if we have a thermometer?” I ask, pressing the phone to my chest.

He gives me an incredulous look, cocking up one eyebrow and pointing towards our bathroom. I smile and squeeze his left big toe, before standing up and trekking over to our nasty needs-to-be-cleaned green en suite. Whoever built this apartment was on crack though, because there’s 2 bedrooms, but only one bathroom. And it has two doors, one into our bedroom and one that opens out into our pathetic excuse of a kitchen. I rummage around the drawers, finally fishing out the tiny thing under a hairbrush and an old Gillette razor. Maybe I should clean while he’s bedridden. Nah, fuck that, it involves energy. And I’m on vacation right now. Now how do you turn this damn thing on… ? Oh, here we go… hope this works. 

I walk back over to the couch and sit on the armrest nearest Gerard’s head, running my hands through his hair to coax him awake. He groans and buries his face into his arm, instead. “Open your mouth,” I say, poking at his cheek with the metal tip.

“I’m fine, jus’ lemme sleep.” he grumbles, before turning himself over to face the backrest of the couch.

I roll my eyes and nudge him in the shoulder. “Gerard, open your damn mouth or I will find another hole to put this in.”

It doesn’t take much convincing after that. He rolls back over and opens his mouth obediently, but the whole time he glares at me like I’ve taken away his favorite toy. He’s such a whiney ass when he gets sick.

“You still there?” I ask Brian, no longer hearing him on the other line.

He grunts a ‘yes’ and I can hear his computer coming to life in the background. The thermometer beeps and Gerard nearly spits it at me before sinking back into his pillows and covering his head with a quilt. I flip it over to read the display and my heart plummets. 

“Fuck” I exhale.

“ _What? Is it bad?_ ” Brian asks in a hurry.

I can hear the panic in his voice, but he heard the fear in mine. This is worse than I thought. “103.7” I reply, my voice wavering. 

It’s silent for a while, so I stand up and walk into the kitchen. I root around for a rag and run it under cold water, and throwing in a handful of ice cubes for good measure. I make back to the couch before Brian answers me, and I lay the washcloth across Gerard’s brow.

“ _Frank, you—fuck,_ ” Brian sucks in a breath, and I can practically hear him frowning, “ _You need to take him to a doctor. Now, if you can. Now now **now**_.” He emphasizes.

I make a defeated noise and look down at Gerard. “What about the meeting?” 

Brian kind of whines and I can hear him rifling through papers, " _I’ll take care of that. Just get Gee to a doctor and call me when you find out what’s going on, okay?_ ” 

I nod, even though I know Brian can’t see me. I was actually kind of looking forward to the meeting. I mean, we did just get off tour, but I love those guys. Except now I think Mikey is going to be a little pissed I didn’t tell him his brother was sick in the first place, but he can get the fuck over that.

I drop my voice to a whisper and stand up from the couch, “Should I take him to the emergency room?”

Gerard’s head pops up at this, “No!” he shouts, sending himself into a bout of coughing.

No, no Frank, you don’t say those words. Only if someone is bleeding out of every orifice to even utter those two horrible words in the same sentence. He’s terrified, I can tell, and I think all he really wants is TLC. And maybe a 36 hour nap. Brian however, just sighs, “ _Lemme talk to him_.”

I turn around and hand the phone to Gerard, who curls up and hides his face under the blankets. About 5 minutes and a coughing fit later, he hands the phone back to me and whines in the back of his throat. There’s the sound of phones on Brian’s end and he groans, “ _ER, now. Text me when you get there_ ,” he orders, and with that he hangs up.

Gerard whines again and I squeeze in next to him, practically pulling his chest into my lap. I press my face against his neck, trailing kisses along his jugular. “It’s okay, I’ll be with you, so you don’t hafta be scared,” I comfort.  
.  
He closes his eyes, deep in thought, before nodding and pulling his arms free of the blankets, throwing them around my shoulders. I scoop him up and carry him out to the car. Sadie whines and follows me as I walk out the door, and tries to jump in while I’m sliding Gerard into the passenger seat and tucking a blanket around him. I shoo her back inside, making sure I lock everything up before walking back to the car and starting the engine. He gazes at me tiredly, blinking his sick eyes as I take off for the nearest hospital. “I love you, Frankie,” he mumbles. 

I’m not sure if he’s saying that because he’s delirious or sincere, so I don’t answer him. I don’t really need to. I just kiss his hand and plan on keeping a steady hold on it as the day passes. "Damn straight you do."

  **+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+**

It’s too loud in here. There are too many people, and it’s too damn loud. Everything about coming here has been a fiasco. First someone crazy pill head barreled through the doors behind us, pushing us aside so she could sprint to the registration desk before we could. Then the guy that was taking all our information heard Gee coughing and forced him to wear one of those degrading blue safety masks. He whined a little when the man handed it over but put it on without much defiance. Finally they told us to wait. We’ve already been waiting at least a half an hour, and still the waiting room fills with more and more people. 

And most of the ‘patients’ don’t even look like they’re suffering. A couple do; there’s one older man in the corner, who came in a little after we did, and he’s cradling his hand with a bloody towel wrapped around it. There’s also a bright smear of blood on his shirt, making me gag and look away. Another woman is holding her kid who’s been paper white and twitching the entire time. 

And then there’s Gerard. He’s curled into a little ball on a double-seated chair, which I actually think is for _really_ fat people, but nobody says anything to him as he naps. It’s kind of scary actually. I’ve never, ever seen him like this; all silent and docile. I can tell he truly feels like shit because normal Gerard would take _every_ opportunity to people watch and make endless remarks on all insignificant things around him. He’s said maybe two words, and they were really a handful of jumbled nonsense he sighed out to the nurse before collapsing onto a chair. Now he’s just staring off into space, trying his hardest to not spit up his lungs onto the floor. He shudders deeply and looks at me, “Will you rub my back?”

His voice is so raw and pathetic that I almost feel like crying. Fuck, I don’t know how to take of sick people, seeing as how I’m too usually busy being sick myself. I reach over and stroke him between the shoulders, my hand curling up to play with the tattered fringes of his hair. My phone vibrates in my pocket and Gerard mimics the sound before coughing. I fish it out and flip it open, facing a picture of Mikeyway reaching through a fence to pet a baby buffalo at a petting zoo somewhere in Texas.

_any word on G?_

I look over at his prone form and sigh, typing out: _Still waiting :(_

Gerard gives a deep, wet cough, his back shaking as he hacks towards the floor, and stuffs his face into the front of his hoodie to keep quiet. I rub his shoulders again, cooing quietly to him. He’s talking, or his mouth is moving at least, but he’s not making any noise. I wonder if he’s dreaming… 

“Gerard Way?” a timid voice calls.

Both our eyes shoot up to a nurse dressed in hideous purple scrubs. She looks as tired as we do, and sighs when a baby in the far corner wakes from his nap and starts screaming. I raise my hand and stand up, before pulling Gerard into me and holding him close. His steps are slow and uneven, and I can feel his shoulders shaking against mine as we shuffle across the room. The nurse smiles, and opens a frosted glass door, taking us down a hallway lined with beds and dividers. He has another bout of shivering and practically curls up under my arm. He’s still wearing that stupid mask, too, so I tug it down to hang around his neck. It actually looks kind of badass.

All the beds we pass are full, and every few seconds someone coughs or vomits or cries out in pain. The nurse turns to face us, “As you can tell, we’re swamped, and there isn’t a doctor available right now. But you can lay down and I’ll get a chart started so we can treat you that much faster.” She calls, bustling down the hallway.

I drown out what the girl is saying, paying attention to the trembling man who is getting harder and harder to carry with every step we take. An old man in a robe toddles past us, giving Gerard and I the dirtiest look and I just glare back. Fuck him. We pay taxes for his social security and his medicare. He can fuck off and break a hip for all I care. 

“Frankie?” Gee mumbles.

I look over, and realized we’ve stopped at an empty bed. I lower him onto it, and he sighs in relief, falling back onto the pillows and closing his eyes. The nurse closes the curtain around the bed and I tuck myself into a chair against the wall. I keep silent as she takes his vitals, but reach out to hold his hand when he whimpers. She gasps a little at his temperature, gaping at me, “How long has he had this fever?”

I shrug, “6 hours? I dunno, he seemed fine last night before bed.” 

The nurse nods and writes everything down before she starts asking Gerard questions. Or rather, she asks him questions and he just stares at me until I answer for him. The nurse seems satisfied with this, though, and sets her clipboard at the end of the bed. She’s pulling the curtain aside when Gee calls out for her. “I’m cold,” he cries.

I start rubbing his arms even though I know he was trying to talk to the nurse. He clears his throat but ends up choking. “Can I have a blanket?” he calls, voice louder but still feeble.

The nurse turns and frowns sympathetically, “No, not yet, sweetie. You’ve got a high temp and the doctor may not want you bundled up.” She explains.

I can feel my heart breaking for him. “Not even one?” I ask, looking at her with my most charming face.

But she shakes her head and pets Gerard’s hair a little, “No, hunny, I really can’t. But he’ll be seen right away because of the fever, so a doctor should be back here soon,” she explains, her voice calming and nice.

He moans but the girl ignores him and leaves his bedside, drawing the divider around the bed for privacy. He whines and rolls onto his side, curling around our intertwined hands. I kiss his sweltering cheek, and smirk devilishly when I see one of those horrid hospital gowns sitting on the corner of the mattress. Maybe I could cheer him up a little…

“You should change. Here, I’ll help you,” I say nonchalantly, my free hand drawing circles on his chest.

He laughs at this, though, and starts to blush. “I really can’t right now…” he mumbles, his smirk going wider.

I roll my eyes. “No one is going to see you naked,” I console, though my tone is reprimanding. 

He giggles and closes his eyes. “It’s not that,” he mumbles, running his hands up and down his pajama pants, “I’m not wearing any underwear right now…”

My mouth drops open and I can feel my dick twinge. Okay, shit. Shit. That was the first thing he told me when we got together, his lips flush against my ear and his hot breath racing down my neck. And now, in the worst situation ever, he says it again to me, still smirking and tittering like a horny school girl. It’s kind of weird, actually. Gerard is very self-conscious about himself and his body; always anxious about how he looked and how people thought he looked. But he never wore anything _under_ his clothes, which is probably why the man wears pants and jackets even in the dead of summer. He baffles me still, really.

“You honestly think I care? Take your jacket off.” I order, grabbing the gown off the end of the mattress.

It’s pale green cotton, pilled and shabby, with a questionable rust-colored stain along the collar. He gags at it, too, but then sighs and wrenches himself off the pillows. I slip a hand under his shoulders, helping him sit up. His breathing hitches and he coughs, before he pulls at his zipper and slides the ratty jacket off himself and onto the floor. I then reach over and pull off his shirt despite him going completely limp as I tugged it off. He groans the entire time he’s shirtless, barely cooperating as I pull his arms through the sleeves of the gown. Finally though, I get it on him and knot up ties in the back. He’s practically drowning in the fabric, and it makes him look even paler and sicklier than before. He collapses back into the pillow with a relieved sigh, closing his eyes along the way. I sit back down in my chair but I don’t take my hands off him. He blinks his eyes open, carefully watching my every move as my hands trail down from his shoulders to the waist band of his pants. He stares at me groggily, “You’re kidding, right?”

I shake my head and smirk, slipping my fingers under the elastic. I scratch at the skin of his hip and he jerks under my touch. He shudders and tries to twist away from me, pawing at my hands, “Frankie, I really don’t—“

I roll my eyes and press a finger to his lips. “I’m not gonna fuck you,” I re-assure, my hands going back to his sides, “Just wanna make you feel better.”

He makes a little noise and squirms again, “No, we’ll get caught,” he argues tiredly.

I shake my head and plunge my hand down the front of his pants, smiling wickedly. Gerard gasps and writhes beneath me, “Frankie, no!” he whines.

“Shhh,” I whisper, tugging on him lightly, “Just keep quiet. No one will bother us.”

He coughs roughly when I give him an enthusiastic yank and has to turn his face into his pillow to stifle the moan. I giggle endlessly, kissing his belly, “Just relax, okay?” I mutter into his skin.

He finally does, sinking into his pillows and closing his eyes. I stroke him slowly a few times before frowning and pulling my hand away. He cracks open an eye, “Why’d you stop?” he croaks.

“Too dry,” I grunt, and start rooting around for my wallet.

He watches me in a daze, not saying a word. I open my wallet and poke around, checking every pocket for the flash of sliver. I like to keep lube with me at all times, as sexual spontaneity is kind of our turn on. I used to keep condoms, too, but after a year together Gerard got offended if I wore one. Not that I’m complaining about that.

Finally I find one and carefully pull it out and tear along the slit. I use one hand to tug his pants down to his knees, the other precariously holding onto the little packet of lube. Once he’s situated I start stroking him again, smiling when he relaxes and grins to himself. I speed up and he moans in appreciation, hips bucking up a little. He does a good job of staying quiet, only making little gasps every few moments. I think I’ll change that though. 

“Babe,” I whisper, pulling my hands away, “Spread your legs.”

He grunts at this so I just push them apart myself. My hand lingers on his thigh for a moment, feeling the muscles quiver. Wordlessly I push two fingers inside of him and he lets out a throaty moan, “Oh, god, Frankie…”

I slap his thigh a little, “Be quiet.”

He sighs and nods, going limp again. While he may be the submissive one, I’ve never seen him so pliant, so yielding. He can take anything and usually gives it back just as fierce. But today he’s just lying there, reluctantly obeying my commands. I push my fingers in further and can feel myself getting harder. He’s hot, so hot inside that all I want to do is dive inside of him and never come out. I curl my digits up and his legs flail beneath the sheet. He’s biting onto his lip to keeping from making any noise and it makes him look so innocent. It’s not that’s he particularly loud during sex; I just think he’s trying not to get in trouble. Which, honestly, who hasn’t fucked in a hospital before? 

My hand moves faster and I lean over his chest to press kisses all over his face. He turns and whimpers into my neck, one of his hands going around my back and fisting up in my shirt. “Don’t stop,” he gasps.

Sweat begins to drape his torso, and when he goes to let out a guttural moan, a sickly cough bursts from his throat, spraying my face with mucus and spit. He groans and falls back on the pillow, pushing me off of him and wheezing into his shoulder. I pull out of him and stand there feeling dumb. “Gee?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer, just keeps hacking and panting, now on his side and taking in shaky breaths. I frown and go over to the medicine cabinet, taking handfuls of paper towels to wipe off my face and hands. Gerard is still coughing, and there are faint moans of pain in between his ragged breaths. I sigh and pull the chair away from the wall and next to the bed, watching him breathe the entire time. Sitting down, I take his hand in mine and start rubbing soothing circles into his palm. His breathing relaxes and slows down, and before I know it, he’s asleep and I’m left alone and twitchy in the ER. Goddammit. I thought that nurse said we’d be getting a doctor soon, and where did she go anyways?

I prop my face up with my fist, staring down at his sleeping form. I hate this. I hate hospitals, I hate when people get sick, and I especially hate feeling so useless. I’m more used to caring for headaches and muscles cramps or the occasional concussion. And Gerard rarely gets sick, especially to the point where he runs a fever and has to be taken to the hospital. That’s more my forte. 

Gerard coughs in his sleep and curls up tighter than before, the top of his knees almost brushing against his chin. I start to stroke his cheeks, cussing out God and everything around me when I realize his fever has spiked. Oh my god I’m freaking out. I don’t know what to do. I think I should call Mikey but I can’t just abandon Gerard here. I’m not going to leave. I’m not going out into a stuffy waiting room while my anxiety-ridden mega phobic fiancé has a shit ton of needles and wires poked into him. He needs me, or else someone’s going to end up with a black eye and he’s gonna work himself into a panic attack. And, oh holy shit he coughed on me. Jesus fuck now I’m going to be sick and we’ll both be stuck here and no one will be happy.

“Mr. Way?”

I’m so busy having a nervous breakdown I didn’t hear the nurse pulling back the curtain. The nurse is a different one than the one in the waiting room. An older woman with messy red hair pulled down at the nape of her neck. She has a kind, matronly smile and smells like sugar cookies. The doctor, however, is young and handsome and has a kind of pretentious air about him. He reminds me of the bitchy blonde doctor from ‘House’.

Gerard’s left eye cracks open, and his cranes his neck back to stare at the doctor at the end of the bed, “Y-Yeah?” he murmurs.

The man pulls the metal clipboard from the end of the bed, standing opposite me as he scrolls over the nurse’s notes. Finally he sets it down and looks at Gerard, “Hello, I’m Dr. Edwards. What’s seems to be going on?” he asks

Gerard coughs and shrugs, “’M sick.”

The doctor smiles, though, and presses a hand to Gerard’s forehead and neck. “I can see that,” he laughs, “When did the symptoms start?”

But Gerard groans and turns his face into the pillow, clearly not wanting to talk. I grab his hand and answer for him, “About 2 this morning is when he started coughing. He’s had a fever since then, too.”

The doctor nods and pulls his stethoscope from around his neck, motioning for Gerard to sit up. He groans at the thought of being moved, though, and both me and the doctor have to help him into a sitting position. He slumps over instantly, babbling nonsense into his lap. Great, now he’s a giant noodle, this should be interesting to deal with. 

I try to drag him upright again but he just keeps doubling over and the doctor insists that it’s fine. It’s not fine, though, and I make him straighten out again, pressing a hand to his shoulder blades to keep him steady.

“Work with me here,” I hiss, pressing a little harder.

But he just whines and looks dead-pan back at me, “Don’ be mean ta me,”

The doctor clears his throat and I try to move out of his way. He listens to his heart first, and I’m kind of afraid to say anything in case he needs total quiet. He then presses the instrument to Gerard’s back, frowning a little at the sound of his lungs. I frown, too, and try not to panic. “So, uhh, what is it?”

The doctor presses his fingers to Gerard’s throat, feeling his lymph nodes and sighing to himself, “It looks and sounds like pneumonia but I’ll need to run some tests to be sure.”

Pneumonia? Oh, fuck, I was definitely not ready to deal with pneumonia. I nod and run my hand the length of Gerard’s spine, feeling the air rattling in his chest. The doctor pulls a small flashlight from his coat pocket, waving it back and forth in front of Gerard’s eyes before checking his nose and throat. I shift, suddenly feeling very in the way, “Um, what tests? Will they take long?”

The doctor shrugs and helps Gerard lie back down. “The blood work may take a few hours, and hopefully I can get him down to radiology within that time.” He explains, putting the stethoscope back around his neck.

I nod again. God, I feel like an idiot right now. “Radiology?”

The doctor doesn’t answer right away, instead he writes down orders on Gerard’s chart. “He needs a chest x-ray; I can hear a lot of fluid in the right lung.”

Oh holy fuck. I mean, that’s not anything out of the ordinary for me, but Gerard falls to shit when he hits his head. He’s not going to be happy about those blood tests, either…

I grab Gerard’s hand, practically throwing myself in the chair beside him. He looks a little freaked out himself and blanches when he notices the nurse setting up the IV stand next to the bed. The doctor whispers a few words to her before she turns to a cart behind her and starts pulling out vials of medicine. Gerard whimpers and the doctor puts a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Rebecca is going to give you some drugs that should make you feel better,” he explains, looking at the both of us, “And if we can get your fever down, I’ll send you home.”

Gerard nods but then coughs, so I reply for him, “And if not?”

The doctor sighs, looking sympathetic, “He’ll need to stay the night, at least.”

I groan loudly and start to complain but Gerard shrieks and half pulls me on top of him, legs flailing the entire time. I look over and watch the nurse pull the butterfly needle from its sterile packaging, setting it down on a tray set up behind the bed. She’s already got the tourniquet around his bicep and cleaning the inside of his elbow, which is what probably grabbed his attention. The doctor looks taken aback by his outburst and just gapes at me like I’m somehow responsible. I grab Gerard’s chin, pulling his face into mine. “Hey, calm down,” I coo, making his eyes lock with mine. 

He whines, though, “But you don’t—”

I roll my eyes and hush him before he can finish. “Don’t what? Know how you feel?” I ask, stroking his cheek, “I know you’re scared but if you don’t calm down they can’t help you.”

He looks over at the needle and gulps audibly. “It’ll hurt,” He squeaks.

I smile and kiss his nose, “Yeah for like one second. And I’m right here.”

He looks ready to cry and only repeats, “But you don’t—”

There’s a scream and it feels like my hand is being crushed and my arm is being pulled from the socket. I look up and the nurse is smirking while she fills vacutainers with blood; Gerard groaning loudly and flopping his head around on the pillow. “You cheated,” he cries. 

She hooks a line of clear tubing into the port before wrapping the injection site in gauze. He looks confused and she grins up at him. “So you won’t see the needle,” she clarifies.

He makes a small noise and settles back against the mattress, finally sitting still. The doctor sighs and grabs onto the railing of the bed, giving me a desperate look. I just shrug, though, and squeeze Gerard’s hand. The doctor sighs again and turns back for the curtain. “The medicine will make you sleep,” he says, sounding almost relieved, “And I’ll have you down for the x-ray soon.”

Gerard nods weakly and turns onto his side, curling around his IV-ed arm. The nurse gives him the last of the drugs and starts to head away with the cart. When I notice Gerard shivering, though, I stop her. “Can he get a blanket now?” I call.

She smiles and nods, pulling back the curtain as she goes. Gerard coughs and shudders, before going still and watching his saline drip with a lazy fascination. I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket and suddenly remember I’m supposed to call Brian. I look over at Gee and rub his arm, “I’m going to call Brian. Do you want me to call Mikey, too?”

He shrugs and closes his eyes, so I take that as my blessing to leave. I walk out quickly; I really don’t wanna deal with the waiting room right now. I go outside and sit inside the bus stop, pulling out my pack of smokes and lighting one up. It’s barely 9 o’clock, which means it’s still cold as hell outside. But I’m at least out of the biting wind behind a sheet of Plexiglas. I look up at the hospital and gag a little. It’s so stark and bland, almost dissolving into the steely gray sky behind it. I think now I understand Gerard’s aversion for all things medical. He’s so vibrant and free, and seeing him be so restrained is not as a welcomed change as I’d thought. An ambulance roars past and I sigh, opening my phone and flipping through my contacts for Mikey’s number. I really hope they let Gerard go home tonight but I have a feeling that’s not going to happen. I also really hope he doesn’t lose his voice because the last time that happened I truly thought he was going to kill himself and drag me down with him. The phone rings on the other end and start chewing on my nails. Mikey sounds tired but assures me that he’s on his way, which makes me think he’d been staring at his phone ready to go until I called. When he hangs up I sigh and bury my face in my hands, groaning. This is going to a long, shitty day and I’m really _really_ not looking forward to it. I only text Brian _pneumonia_ and just hope that he’s satisfied with that until I actually call and fill him in on the details. I pull my jacket closer to myself and head back inside. Slinking back down the ER ward, I walk with my head down, until I reach almost the very last bed. The curtain is still open and Gerard is curled up, asleep. There’s also some blankets piled on top of him, and I smile a little when I see he’s no longer shivering. I plop down in the chair, laying my head down on the mattress. Gerard doesn’t stir when I say his name so I close my eyes. I guess now… I wait.

  **+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+**

“Frankie?”

My eyes shoot up from the road and into the rear view mirror, watching a bundle of blankets with a mop of red hair squirm around in the backseat. I’ve barely made it a mile away from the hospital parking lot and already he’s complaining. He had spent the weekend in the hospital, running a crazy fever and coughing up this awful colored gunk, and I am _beyond_ exhausted from dealing with that. Luckily I haven’t been feeling too sick myself but I can feel a migraine growing in my neck and it’s starting to rain outside. I always get sick when it rains.

Gerard coughs and whines my name again, struggling to sit up under his mound of warmth. I’m turning around to talk to him when this shitty blue Supra flies in from the left lane and I nearly rear-end it. I have to slam on the brakes and it kinda sends Gee chest first into the center console, making him wail in pain and begin coughing rather violently. 

“Fucking shit,” I curse, rubbing my palms into my eyeballs to try and get a moment of clarity, “Are you okay?”

His coughs die out into hiccups and he shimmies back up onto the seat, hiding his face in the upholstery, “Uh huh.”

That’s when I spot the huge LED display for a Walmart. Okay, not exactly my saving grace but he’s got a bunch of prescriptions that need filled and we need some food in the house that isn’t frozen or from a can. I’m just hoping he can make it through a shopping session without: a)breaking something; b)stealing something; or c)dying.

I pull into the parking lot, half-tempted to take up a handicap space and just argue my way out of it. But I don’t, because of course, it is Walmart so they’re all taken. Gerard chokes pathetically as I pull into a space, tugging down a quilt so he can speak, “What are you doing?”

I sigh and try to give him an apologetic look, “We need food and you need medicine.”

He moans in protest and tries to roll over, cursing as he falls down into the foot well. “I hate Walmart,” he cries, voice muffled by all the blankets.

I put the car in park and click off my seatbelt, turning around so I can face him. He’s still flopping around on the floor like an idiot, his legs kicking out at the window. Thank god he isn’t wearing shoes. I grab onto his shoulder, tugging the quilt aside so I can help him back onto the seat. “It won’t take long,” I try to argue, but also sounding as affectionate as possible, “And you can ride in one of those electric carts.”

He gives me an incredulous look, but then chokes out a giggle. “I’ve always wanted to do that,” he whispers, as if it’s against the law or something. 

I roll my eyes and crawl into the back, landing on top of Gerard and making him squawk and flail all his limbs at once. I give him a (gentle) noogie and kiss his forehead, wrapping my arms around his torso. “It won’t take long,” I repeat, kissing him again. 

He nods and cuddles into me, coughing into my neck, “I just wanna ride the carts.” 

I pop open the back door and shimmy outside, tugging Gerard out along with me. Gerard huffs when I take away his blankets, huddling against the cart corral as he bitches. Finally I grab him by the waist and we shuffle towards the entrance, trying to avoid mini vans and him slipping on any ice. It had begun snowing this morning, only to warm up and turn to a cold bleary rain. But of course Gerard [/would/] find the one patch of ice in a parking lot and fall down on it. He’s just good at that kind of thing. 

When we walk inside, instantly we’re blind-sided by a rush of color and sounds. There’s also this overwhelming smell of fried chicken coming from the deli and I can feel Gerard gag against my throat. It’s then I spot the rows and rows of carts, along with a line of motorized ones charging against the wall. I smile and push Gerard towards them, “Your chariot awaits, highness.”

He giggles and slumps down in the nearest one, fumbling with the keys until it clicks to life and starts making this awful beeping noise. He glares at it and starts to hit the cart’s display, screaming when it shoots off from the wall only to be tugged back by its cord. Jesus, I haven’t even started shopping and already he’s creating a spectacle of himself. Finally, though, he seems to get the vehicle under control and rolls out towards the produce, the power cord trailing another 6 feet behind him. I curse and race to catch up with him, pushing a cart in front of me and trying to avoid mowing over small children. 

We go to the pharmacy first, just because otherwise I’d forget and Gerard would hack up his lungs on the car ride home. The line is, of course, impossibly long, so I leave Gerard to hold his place. He’s got a fistful of prescriptions in his left hand, sounding out each of the complicated names with over dramatic enunciation. I smack him lightly on the head so he’ll turn and look at me.

“Do you need anything?” I ask, trying to run through my mind what I could get.

Gerard shrugs before scratching at his scalp, “Uhh, that mint shampoo. And more of that lip stuff, with the glitter or whatever,” he mumbles.

“You realize that’s for _little girls_ , right?” I tease.

But he just flips me off and sulks back down into his seat, leaving me to wander the aisles. There is a spectacularly fat woman combing through the nail polish, and I literally have to squeeze around the corner to avoid hitting her. And then irony strikes and a woman who couldn’t have weighed more than 80 pounds ambles up and makes a lot of noise on her phone next to her. Great, now I feel more awkward than ever. She’s still beside me when I grab Gerard his lip gloss (fucking Lip Smackers, seriously) and I have to toss it nonchalantly in my cart so I don’t look like some kind of weirdo pervert. 

I look out from the shelves and see Gerard still sitting in line, playing with the ends of his hair. Everyone around him is giving him awkward looks (can’t imagine why). I wander across the aisle, deftly avoiding screaming children and harried housewives wrist deep into their smart phones. They put all the seasonal shit on this side for some reason and it’s already filled with stuff for Valentine’s Day. Which, in this case, wins me about a million points in the Boyfriend Game. 

The first thing I see is a row of plush animals, with big, blank stares and arms clutching a bright red heart. There’s a rabbit/lamb thing at the end with doey green eyes and a weird anatomical structure. It’s both creepy and adorable, so I’m sure he’ll love it. Hmmm, now some candy. Mostly for me because he’ll never eat it out of fear of becoming fat. I’m grabbing a bag of conversation hearts when I spot the golden ticket. A big felt heart with a bejeweled Darth Vader on the front. Okay, so Gerard is kind of a sucker for shit like this so I’ll get it for him today, especially since he’s not been a total brat about going to the hospital. I am so getting laid tonight.

I can hear Gerard’s coughing from over here so I go back by the pharmacy to make sure he isn’t seizing on the ground or something. But he’s not, just curled up on the scooter in the corner, absentmindedly chewing on his nails. I go back to grab our shampoo and some soap that doesn’t fucking smell like fruit. It’s not long before he’s done though, because I can hear him hacking and that god awful scooter drawing closer. He’s looking at hair dye when I find him, and holding at least 4 different flavors of cough drops. He looks balefully at me and pouts a little at a redhead on a L’Oreal box. But I shake my head, “What? No way, you can barely breathe right now; you’re not dying your hair,”

He pouts more, pulling the box out and cradling it, “You get tattoos when _you’re_ sick. Why can’t I dye my hair?”

“Gerard, you crazy fuck,” I grunt, grabbing the dye and putting it back on the shelf, “I’m not _breathing in ammonia_ when I get tattoos.”

He moans and sinks back down into his seat, driving off and going too fast around a corner and knocking down a row of tampons. Jesus. If I didn’t love him I would have dumped him at some looney bin by now. I follow him back to pet supplies, lugging a bag of food into the cart while Gerard browses through the collars. 

“Sadie needs a bigger one, with diamonds,” he says passively, smiling at a particularly gaudy one. 

“No, she is not a Chihuahua, and you are not a princess,” I argue, pulling down an orange, reflective one, “Look, this one is cool without being… well, gay.”

But he just laughs and then coughs roughly before grabbing a purple polka-dot one and throwing it into his cart, “Happy?” 

I kiss his cheek and he makes this weird purring noise and kinda nuzzles me. Okay, now I remember why I put up with his shit. We linger around a bit longer, watching the Betta fish and debating which colors were better. My stomach tinges a bit, though, and I suddenly realize I’m starving. We start walking back to the produce section but he races out in front of me, giggling madly the entire time.

“Fuckin’—dude, hold on!” I shout, practically sprinting after him. 

Gerard is idling by a pile of apples and oranges, coughing roughly into the air around him. There are several shoppers grimacing and trying to edge away from him, shooting me dirty looks as I sprint over to him to try and get him to stop spraying germs everywhere. He coughs into his sleeve, wheezing loudly when I make it him. I furrow my brows when he sneezes on the bananas. “Dude, cover your mouth,” I reprimand, tugging on his hood to direct his attention towards me, “You can’t go around infecting people, they’ll throw you in prison for that.”

He sniffles haughtily and starts to roll away, his voice barely carrying over the hum of the motor, “I didn’t even get _you_ sick; I’m sure everyone else is fine.”

He’s got a point there but he should at least be courteous. Not to mention everything smells like hand sanitizer now. I scramble to get some veggies for the house, which is a hopeless cause, really, because neither of us will eat them in time (and I doubt Gerard would even eat vegetables if I didn’t put them on pizza). He’s already driven off and is lingering near the butcher’s, coughing into his sleeves and giving the fish in a display case a disgusted look. I walk over to him, wincing at the sight of all the prepackaged meat. He zooms off again towards the freezers, forcing me to run to catch up with him. He’s looking at the pizzas, but when he sees me he makes this long, pathetic whining noise, “Frankie, I can’t reach it!”

I roll my eyes and try to put all of my annoyance and disdain into my stare, “Can’t reach what?” I ask.

He keens again and starts grabbing at the air, “The fancy one I like! The yellow one!”

I cross my arms and smirk, “Fucking seriously? You can totally reach that,”

“But Frankie,” he cries, flopping over dramatically and nearly falling off the seat of the cart, “I’m _sick_.”

I huff and grab it for him, throwing it into his basket. I should have known this would be an ordeal. Gerard can’t go out in public without creating a scene, and I know him being sick as a dog is only making his drive for attention worse. We’re heading out of the aisle when I curse and look down in my basket and realize I forgot to get bread. I bend down and kiss his cheek, “I still need bread; I’ll be right back.”

He nods and we kiss again before I double back to the bakery. The place is more packed than usual, seeing as how it’s hella cold outside so people are more reluctant than usual to get what the need and get the fuck out.  
It’s also just after Christmas which means checking out is going to be a bitch. Fuck, this seemed like such a good idea 5 minutes ago but now I just want to pay for what I have and go home. I can shop tomorrow, or whatever. 

I’m making my way back to the Gerard when I notice there’s a rather large group of people clustered at one end of the freezer aisle. And I also notice that is where I left Gerard. Fuck. What has he done now, I don’t even—

“—uckin’ sick ass queer!”

I turn the corner and there’s Gerard: hyperventilating with his knees pulled into his chest, while some tall, burly dude waves his finger around in front of his face, spitting venom. Everyone around them is just watching, or simply passing by and making lewd comments under their breaths. I don’t give a shit if we don’t fit in but it’s no reason to fucking terrorize us when we’re trying to [/grocery shop/]. The man keeps screaming, yelling awful to curses to Gerard while he screeches my name. “Fucking faggot,” he screams, and it’s then I lose control and start muscling my way through the crowd, “Fucking burn in hell!”

I don’t even give a fuck about my cart; all I want is to get to Gerard. Before I can even think my hands are around the guy’s throat and I’m cramming his face into the tiled floor. 

“Nobody calls him ‘faggot’ but me, motherfucker,” I snarl, smacking him a few times for good measure.

It’s not long before I’m pried off the dude by security. There’s an even larger crowd than before, and Gerard slinks off his cart and over to me, curling up under my arm. A manager comes over, looking flustered and tucking a walkie-talkie into her vest pocket. “I’m sorry,” she says, smoothing her hair back and trying to look apologetic, “I watched the whole thing in the office, and we’ll be removing the man from the premises,”

I grunt and hold Gerard a little tighter, “Do we have to leave, too?” I ask. 

She shakes her head, blanching a bit, “No, not unless you want to.”

I sigh a little and just wordlessly go back to my cart, dragging Gerard along with me. He’s shivering a little and the skin on his side is fever hot beneath my hand. I help sit back down but he’s suddenly very quiet, not saying anything or even looking up when I say his name. Goddammit. Okay, so Gerard is pretty good at getting attention for himself but sometimes the attention is negative, and Gerard is extremely sensitive to criticism. And I can only imagine that being delirious and fucked up on cough syrup didn’t make the situation any easier on him. When he was young he was an easy target for bullies and so now whenever someone shows aggression towards him he locks himself up; not uttering a word in the hopes that whoever was bothering him would grow bored and ignore him like everyone else. 

“Gee,” I coo, curling a hand into his hair, “It’s okay.” 

He trembles and shies away from my hand, muttering, “I know.”

With that he takes off down the aisle, eyes firmly fixed to the floor, only occasionally looking up to regain his bearings. I follow him silently, picking out what we need while he grabs random goods. I can’t blame him for that, though. I’ve always found it easier to eat what I really like when I’m sick, mostly because it’s all I can keep down. Gerard hasn’t done much puking lately, but he hasn’t done much eating, either. We’re back in the chips when he stops in the middle of the aisle and starts sobbing, choking on his own tears and making even more noise as he struggles to breathe. Luckily we’re alone this time so I stand directly in front of him and get a good grip on his shoulders. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” I console, trying to make him look at me, “That dude was a douchebag; don’t worry about what he said.” 

But he just cries louder, coughing pitifully between sobs, “But – he-called-me-a-faggot!” he squeaks.

I groan in anger and rub his cheeks dry with my thumbs, “Who gives a fuck? Plenty of people have called you a ‘faggot’ before.”

But he just shakes his head, “It’s not that!”

Jesus, I was not prepared to deal with Dramatic Gerard today. Sick Gerard is hell in of itself, and it’s not long before Dramatic Gerard comes out. The worst is Shrieking Gerard, which at this rate may not be that far down the line. I keep rubbing his cheeks until his cries become hiccupping whimpers and he finally looks at me, “Frankie, I don’t feel so good. I wanna go home.”

I sigh and nod, going back to my cart. Gerard moans something unintelligible and gathers everything he’s picked out and drops them into my cart, abandoning the electric scooter in the aisle. I open my mouth the protest but given everything we’ve already gone through here I don’t really care anymore. I wrap an arm around his waist, keeping him close to my side as I grab a gallon of milk and start heading for the front of the store. People are still giving us dirty looks, but fuck them. 

Gerard doesn’t notice, though, in fact I think he’s oblivious to everything around us, only taking the time to open his eyes to regain his bearings. I push the cart towards the checkout lanes, all the while balancing a 150 pound man on my left shoulder. The cashier gives us both strange looks, chewing on her lip ring nervously, and she stares me down almost the entire time she’s ringing things up. Gerard’s giggling mindlessly as a rack of celebrity magazines, tugging on my shirtsleeve. “Why ain’t we on those, Frankie? I’m famous enough,” he complains, making faces at a picture of Jennifer Aniston. 

I roll my eyes and hand the girl my credit card. “I don’t know if you noticed, but no one likes gay people.”

“’M not gay… just have a boyfriend.” He mumbles, and lazily stuffs the magazine back onto the rack.

He half collapses into me, eyes clouded with fever and medication. I drag him upright, grabbing the heavy plastic bags and plopping them down into the cart. I grab him again and practically carry him towards the doors, cart clanking behind us. He stumbles behind me, coughing into his hands and whining incessantly,“Fraaankie… nnnugh…”

I turn around and see him bent double over an island of flowers, vomiting and coughing with his hands on his knees. Everyone just stops and stares at him, too, just like inside, muttering to one another and not even bothering to help. God, I’m never taking him out in public again.

Once he’s finished, he just kinda glares at the yellowy puddle of sick pooling beneath him. I grab his arm and pull him with me, nearly throwing him into the backseat. He burrows back under his blankets, coughing quietly as I load the groceries into the trunk. I put the last of the food away and return the cart to the corral next to where I parked (because I’m a grocery store _genius_ ).

I drive home in silence, my heart breaking every time Gerard coughs and beating myself up for ever thinking it was a good idea to keep him out of bed. Once we get back to the house, I park and look at him sternly, “Gee just—ugh. Go take a bath and then go to our room and sleep.”

He nods and climbs out shakily, shuffling inside and straight to the bathroom. I put away the groceries in silence, only listening to the sounds of water filling the tub and Gerard coughing softly. God, all I manage to buy when we go out is crap. The only food we live on are frozen meals and cereal. What can I say, we're 5 star chefs. Gerard coughs loudly from the bathroom, and the sound of water splashing to the floor pulls me from the pantry. 

"Gee, you okay?" I call, wary of the silence now coming from the bathroom.

He chokes a little and I can hear him moving things around,"Uhhh... yeah..."

Liar. "Are you sure?" I call, arranging vegetables in the crisper.

Cough. Hack. "I'm sure."

I throw the last of the groceries into the freezer and walk into bathroom, where Gerard is sitting on the bathroom floor, soaking wet and miserable. I cross my arms. "What happened?" I ask, grabbing towels from the linen closet because he’s too stupid to keep himself from getting pneumonia when he already _has pneumonia_.

He sighs quietly and looks up at me with guilt, "I puked in the water."

I groan to myself and wrap him up in the towels before walking over the the off-white tub. I can steam little tendrils of steam coming up out of the tub and I kneel down beside it, peering down into the sudsy water. That's weird, I don't see any puke. "Gee... what are y-"

Next thing I know, before I can even chew him out for lying to me, I'm face first in the water and I'm swimming to the surface sputtering and coughing. "Gerard Way, you dirty sonovabitch!"

He giggles softly, his eyes alight with mischief for the first time in days. I sigh and brush my hair from my eyes, pulling off my now soaked sweatshirt. He crawls over to me, snuggling into my chest and making this weird purring noise. "I see you’re feeling better," I mutter darkly.

He nods wordlessly, relaxing into me and tracing along my tattoos. "Anytime I get to cause you grief makes me feel better." he explains, voice harsh from wheezing.

"Yeah? And I'm more than willing to hold back from sex for the next 6 months, mister." I retort, batting him playfully on the side of his head.

He pouts teasingly, and starts nuzzling the top of his head against my chin, "Can you help me back into the tub?" His voice is quiet and innocent but sounds healthier than it’s been in the last 48 hours.

I nod, standing up and pulling his weak frame up with me. I ease him down into the water and sit on the edge of the tub, my hand molding to his cheek. He still feels hot, but not so much that it burns when I touch him. He begins coughing, and slips down into the water until the fit is over, most of his wheezing muffled and turned into violent spasms of bubbles. "My poor baby." I say, but it’s mostly sarcastic.

He catches it, though, and smirks, choking down a cough, “I'm getting better."

I'm about to respond, when there are these strange pounding and growling noises coming from the living room. Curious, I turn around and see Sadie sprawled across the rug, her sharp, little teeth gnawing away my favorite new shoes. 

"Sadie, no!"

Goddammit. I hate that dog.


End file.
